


Victory Lap

by FrostBite246



Category: Half-Life, Half-Life VR but the AI is Self-Aware - Fandom
Genre: AU, Nonbinary Benrey (Half-Life), Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24623431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostBite246/pseuds/FrostBite246
Summary: He went to the party. He ate his cheap-ass Chuck E Cheese pizza. He watched that shitty movie.He won.So there's one thing Benrey doesn't understand…Why did he come back?(Multi-chapter. To be updated as regularly as possible.)(My hlvrai blog is @tealgreenhealbeam on Tumblr, I may post some VL-related content there, if you ever make content based on this fic feel free to tag me <3)
Relationships: Benrey/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 5
Kudos: 157





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heyhey!! This is my first time posting on AO3 so go easy on me if I got anything wrong lol  
> Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it 👌  
> Obv spoilers for hlvrai, and it's an AU too :)  
> Thank you to Ciel on Discord for encouraging me to get an AO3 and post this!

Why couldn't Gordon just have one normal day at work?

Everything had seemed pretty alright at first. He'd strolled in, with his regular casual hand-wave, and a generous supply of greetings - "howdy", "hey", "how's it going" - for the nearby guards. Nothing out of the ordinary there, but as one guard moved to open the door for him, some movement at the corner of his eye caused him to turn.

Just around the corner behind him, a pair of eyes blinked at him like headlights, from an ashen face. They held a distinct trace of shock - if the person's helmet didn't cast such a huge shadow, Gordon felt sure he'd be able to see most of their features twisted with the emotion. Their mouth was open, like they'd been about to ask a question, then been stopped in the middle by some invasive thought.  
Gordon felt an inexplicable sense of dread bearing down on him. Some forgotten emotion in the corner of his brain told him that this guard, this stranger, standing before him, was somebody to be feared, to be hated. There was a mingling mixture of something else in there too, some hint of trust that had long been shattered.  
Gordon watched in slightly stunned silence as the stranger composed themself, seemingly readying themself to say something, something that seemed important.

"what the fuck bro why did you come back."  
"I- what?"

Now, this was something he was completely unprepared for. The monotone voice, the strained guarding of whatever sort of mess of emotions that person was hiding under their helmet, the informal, almost casual tone. They slunk out from around the corner to face Gordon.  
"oh yeah. forgot baby feetman has memory problems."  
Gordon was starting to realise that maybe those hostile emotions the guard had stirred in him weren't so misplaced.  
"What the fuck did you just call me?" he almost growled, but the beginnings of a confused rant were interrupted once again.  
"whatever. can i...see your passport?"  
They sounded almost disappointed, but now they were closer Gordon could see the (slightly forced) smugness in their grin, and any sympathy he'd had previously for the guard's state of shock had now been completely wiped away.  
"My passport," Gordon echoed, feeling rage building up inside him, quicker than usual, spurred on by his unconscious bias. "What do you mean, a passport? Like, a company ID?"  
The guard rolled their eyes slightly, as if they'd heard this a million times before. They turned to confer with one of the others, the one who'd graciously opened the door for Gordon.  
"he doesn't have his passport."

What followed was one of the most excruciating arguments of Gordon's life.

They were _impossible_. Stubborn, emotionless, except for that smug lilt in their voice. Pulled out that 'feetman' nickname a couple more times too, as if by instinct. Teased him about the smallest things, things that Gordon could've sworn had never happened. The perfect recipe for an utter asshole - a creepy asshole, too. That explained the dread.

"no passport, can't let you in here, bbbbbbbb."  
"Could you stop making that-"  
"bbbbbbbb."

Occasionally the guard seemed to pause, as if they were expecting a witty comeback, or even...laughter? But Gordon had nothing except impatient anger.

The other guards standing around said nothing, as though the presence of the strange person berating Gordon was polarising, the centre of their world. They probably found the whole thing hilarious, and-  
Gordon was distracted from his thoughts by utter confusion as the passport guard opened their mouth, a strange singing, whistling noise emerging, as well as blue spheres. Right in another guard's face.  
"What the fu- what was that?" Gordon said, stumbling over his words slightly. The person looked at him.  
"huh?" That was the guard pretending not to have heard him - one particular habit that was driving him insane. "oh. that's just how we calm each other down. that's...that's the black mesa sweet voice."

And that was when Gordon decided he'd had enough of their shit.

He strode through the open door, away from the stranger, away from the guards watching in silence, all the while trying to shake off that ominous feeling that refused to dissipate.  
_Maybe the test will take my mind off it._

And it did. Just not in a way anyone expected.

The person didn't follow him, which felt odd in some way, and only increased Gordon's sense of alarm.  
_They gave up. Thank god._  
But even with the echoing of his heavy footfalls against the cold metal ground, he expected to hear lighter steps falling in place besides him. The air felt empty without comments about his passport. He didn't have much time to ponder this new evidence he was going insane, though - he was hoping to, y'know, get around to doing his _actual job_ sometime soon. Something he was good at, a part of his regular routine, to distract him from those sharp eyes and that monotone drivel.

There were more passing conversations on his journey to the test chamber - some scientist named Tommy he'd never properly met asked him to read the billboards and told him he drank soda for lunch ( _what a freak_ ), and Dr Coomer was by the lockers as usual, with a cheerful greeting - and some unhelpful tips and tricks - primed.  
_"Another day, another dollar!"_  
Even Dr Bubby's quick, formal greeting was nice by his standards.  
These chats were pleasant enough, but it all felt...slightly odd, in some back-of-the-brain, déjà vu way. He put it down to the residual discomfort from the encounter with the passport guard. After all, anybody would feel a little displaced if a total stranger walked up to them and called them 'feetman'.

Still, the test chamber was waiting, so Gordon half-sprinted down the bland corridors of Black Mesa, occasionally nodding to nearby workers. He didn't offer friendly greetings like before, though; he'd been a little demotivated on that front. He hurried through his slightly out-of-breath apologies for his tardiness to the scientists at the door, then straightened up, preparing to walk right on in and do what had to be done.

And standing in front of him as the doors slid open, with the shittiest smirk plastered across their face, was the passport guard.

"How the FU- y'know what? Y'know what? _Never mind_. Just get out and stay out. I have a job to do, man," Gordon groaned, but the passport guard didn't budge, instead casually leaning against the doorway.  
"calm down." they said, then opened their mouth, that 'Black Mesa Sweet Voice' stuff flying out and smacking Gordon in the face. Some of the blue substance went in his mouth, and he involuntarily swallowed. The effect was pretty instant; he felt his shoulders slumping slightly, some of the tension fading from his muscles, his rage blunter - but still very much burning.  
Gordon was already frustrated at how this stranger was fucking with his emotions. This was a step too far.  
"Don't use that shit on me," he snarled, very much not calm, and pushed _hard_ on the passport guard's chest. They stumbled back, and Gordon barged past them. The scientists would see them out, and no sane person would want to stay of their own volition.  
_Then again, this guy seems pretty insane to me._

Gordon very deliberately oriented himself so that his back was to the doorway as he prepared to initiate the test, feeling slightly concerned that he wasn’t doing this all with a clear head. A noise interrupted his fragmented train of thought, and he turned with an insult ready on his lips.  
The passport guard stood with their arms crossed, teal bubbles - that ‘Sweet Voice’ shit again - floating slowly out of their mouth. The sound they were making was...unnatural, an extension of what they'd done to the guard earlier, a sort of harmonic humming and whistling. Objectively, it was a beautiful sound, but Gordon couldn’t bring himself to appreciate it.  
When they noticed Gordon was looking, they didn’t seem outwardly embarrassed, just shooting Gordon a critical look.  
“don’t you have a job to do bro?”  
“What are you doing?”  
“you shoved me. wasn’t very epic of you.” Which didn’t answer Gordon’s questions.  
They shut their mouth, and Gordon let out a sigh of relief - then they opened it again, continuing without pause, this time emanating green bubbles.  
"Listen, I'm gonna need you to shut up, and leave-"  
He was interrupted by the sounds of the scientists - Dr Coomer, Dr Bubby, and Tommy (who he couldn't bring himself to call a doctor).  
“Hello?” The distinctive voice of Tommy echoed around the test chamber, and Gordon groaned again, slamming his hands against the wall.  
“wow bro. you’re really violent. wall’s not even asking for your passport.”  
Was that a hint of sourness in the passport guard’s voice? It didn’t matter. This new distraction meant no more Sweet Voice, which was fine by Gordon.  
“Tommy, do you know this man?” That was Bubby, sounding pretty impatient.  
Gordon and the passport guard craned their heads up, peering through the window and into the small room where the scientists observed the test chamber.  
“TOMMY,” the passport guard hollered.  
“Hi!” Tommy’s undoubtedly huge smile was audible in his voice. It was pretty endearing, but this was no time for a friendly reunion. The passport guard briefly blew some more of the Sweet Voice, this time in a quite pleasant shade of pink, towards Tommy, before turning away.  
Gordon was getting so, so sick of the Sweet Voice.

The passport guard seemed oddly silent after that exchange. The scientists were mumbling amongst themselves, as well. This left Gordon alone to his own thoughts, thank _god_ , and he was able to do his job about as well as usual.  
He couldn't help a slightly curious glance at the passport guard's face as he walked around the room to initiate the final step. It was essentially unreadable, but...was that sadness in their eyes? And he thought he saw them move, almost as if they were about to stop him - but they didn't, letting their arms fall down limply by their sides.  
"We're going to have a fucking death in the workplace," Gordon muttered. "Get in the airlock."  
"i'm- i'm not human."  
"What? Oh, fuck off." Gordon was at the end of his tether. He didn't want the guard dead, not at all, but they were clearly immovable. They'd probably slip out at the last second. He had to believe they'd be safe, because he had a job to do, and he was already late, so he brushed the tangled mass of emotions aside, and focused all of his energy onto one, single task. Pushing the test sample into the laser.

"...Gordon?" The fucking passport guard again. Their voice was...actually wavering, and Gordon found with surprise that he wasn't enraged. In fact, he was reminded of the first time they'd met. How shocked they'd been, despite their flat tone. Their nonsensical speech. Calling him 'bro'. Familiar, but disjointed...sad, in a way. Vulnerable. And something in him didn't want to just leave them be.  
Not after their inexplicable actions.  
Not when they'd used his real name.  
He'd hear them out _just this once_.

"If I listen, will you get out of here?" Gordon grumbled.  
"yep."  
Gordon nodded, turning slightly to narrow his eyes at the stone-faced guard, the most tired, sick expression on his face, expecting more nonsense about passports.  
"i know what's going to happen next. i know about the- the resonance cascade."  
Gordon paused. His face went slack with surprise. For a moment, a sick feeling rose up in his stomach, seemingly in the same vein as the other déjà-vu-type feelings the guard inspired in him. A small part of him asked, _'what if they're right?'_  
Then he turned around, ignoring the guard completely.  
"it's...fine, bro. knew you wouldn't believe me. you never do. little- little shitty feetman. shitman. doesn't know what's good for him. doesn't even have his passport."  
"Shut up," Gordon growled, and gripped the handle of the trolley, pushing the sample right into the laser beam.

He should have listened.


	2. Chapter 2

A 'key event'. That's what Benrey had nicknamed it, without much care, just the need for a label. Something that happened every time, fundamentally the same, but...with small changes.

Sometimes, Gordon was thrown free of the cascade, like the time Benrey lost their leg to a stray laser. They grew it back soon after, but Feetman sure was horrified...they smiled, thinking of it. Stupid Feetman. Couldn't make his mind up about how much he cared.  
At least in that run, the laser had hit them, and not Tommy. Every run, after their little chat, they wished there was a way to get Tommy out of the observation room, just so they'd never have to watch him die so early ever again.

They faintly remembered that in the last run, Gordon hadn't been injured by the cascade. Probably one reason why it went so well.

Sometimes, Gordon was badly injured. Like when that piece of ceiling had fallen right onto his arm. Benrey remembered accidentally letting slip that Gordon might lose his arm 'too early'. Spoilers. They'd learnt to avoid giving spoilers as much as possible. Because when they gave spoilers...the Entity got 'persistent'.  
They'd just about saved Gordon's arm, but Gordon never stopped asking what Benrey had meant. And Benrey didn't have the heart to tell him. It was hard enough, sitting through that other particular key event, without Gordon knowing it was coming.

Sometimes, Gordon was killed, but Benrey didn't like to think about those times. At all. About the few moments they had to sit and stare at the dead body, all the words they weren't brave enough to say dying in their throat. Losing Gordon before they'd even found him again. Before he even knew their name.  
Benrey was almost grateful for the restart on those runs.

They warned Gordon about the cascade basically every fucking time. And it happened anyway.  
Why didn't they just stop trying?

Well, they hadn't done it last time. And they supposed they just hadn't expected to ever have to do it again. Not after the last run. Not after the win.

* * *

Gordon woke with a gasp, adrenaline lending him sudden strength, writhing against the powerful grip that was holding him firmly by the arms, yanking him free of debris, dragging him, slowly but surely, out of the test chamber. His whole body ached - but no searing pains, none of the wetness of blood. He supposed he'd count his lucky stars after he worked out what was happening.

Something had gone wrong. He'd been doing a test, and something had gone horrifically wrong. The air around him crackled with dry, sweltering energy, and though he was faintly certain it wasn't his own, the metallic scent of blood reeked in the air. His vision was blurry, hopefully temporarily. He managed to order his fragmented thoughts enough to work out that he'd probably been knocked out in an explosion of some kind, and the growing pounding in his brain suggested he'd banged his head.

And now he was being dragged around like a sack of potatoes.

He managed to lash one hand out, sharply, stiff with fear, like a wounded animal, and slapped something solid and plastic, prompting a hiss of pain from his captor. But the grip barely loosened, and a few moments later, even strengthened, and Gordon had to stop struggling as the strength drained from his bruised limbs. He let himself go limp as he was dragged, dragged, then - with surprising tenderness - laid down on the ground. An unnaturally cold hand briefly touched the side of his neck. Checking for a pulse, Gordon assumed hazily. After his attack earlier, his sudden limpness must seem like a stark contrast to his captor-  
No. Not captor. _Rescuer_.  
He forced the hostile hotness of his fear and rage down. Whatever had happened in there...people had been injured. Hell, Gordon had been injured, though lightly. Maybe people had even died. And this person, whoever they were, had dragged him all the way to this seemingly safe spot, putting his safety before their own.  
How had he repaid them? By slapping them.

He let out a croak, trying to look around, but his vision was still blurry and he was promptly shushed. The cold hand was pressed against his forehead now, briefly, then lifted.  
"chillax. you're all good. better than usual actually, for this point."  
Whose voice was that?  
The caveman-like, instinctive rage returned. He didn't trust that voice, which stirred up memories of shouting, bloody feathers, his arm hurting like hell. Rising tides of betrayal and terror crashed down on him, so much that a shiver went down his spine. His eyes flew open in a panic, vision still blurred, seeing nothing, but he couldn't handle being in darkness all of a sudden.  
A softer side of him started to quietly rebel, rising through the rough tides, and the sleepiness overtaking him (probably a side-effect of his head injury) preferred it. There was a gentleness to the voice that reminded him of fingers tangled in his hair, of warmth cuddled up besides him, of being held quietly as he struggled to gulp down breaths, head pressed against someone else's chest as they coaxed him into breathing with them.  
These...weren't memories.  
He'd never experienced this.  
Where the fuck was it coming from?

The cold hands brushed against the side of his head, and he felt something being slid onto his face. Suddenly, the blurry edges of his vision sharpened, and he could just about see - only to find himself bathed in teal and green light, ears greeted with a song rising above the muffled chaos. Something whistling, humming harmonically.  
It was beautiful.  
"wow, bro. you're pretty out of it." The voice hovered in the air with the song, monotonous but in a pleasant way that made his eyelids heavy.  
Gordon let himself drift back into unconsciousness, and though he couldn't see it, a tiny, genuine smile appeared on his rescuer's shadowed face.

* * *

Benrey slunk around the corner, just out of view, waiting for their next cue. They could hear Gordon yelling, the noise reverberating around the corridors, bouncing off, echoing. When Gordon got upset, he spat every consonant, voice rising in pitch through his sentences. Benrey knew that tone well. Gordon hated them most of the time, after all.

Especially last run.

Thinking about that shit hurt...Benrey tugged their helmet off, holding it under one arm, running a hand through their thick black hair, wincing at where Gordon had smacked their helmet into their skull. They could still hear Gordon yelling. Seemed to be yelling at Bubby. Better Bubby than Benrey, they supposed.  
What confused them was that Gordon's voice could be so _soft_ when he wanted it to be, like at night, when there was nothing to do but deal with Benrey's nocturnal habits. Speak to them. Befriend them. And sometimes-

No, Benrey had forgotten their golden rule again. Knowledge gained from other runs was fair game - but feelings...feelings weren't. They couldn't just let themselves be tugged up and down in an emotional yo-yo. They had to remember the essential facts they'd learnt from careful research, the research they'd masked as pure chaos: killing pigeons, chatting with soldiers, refusing to take part in fights.

Letting Gordon's arm-  
No. That was a key event. There was only so much they could do about that.

...still, even with their golden rule, sometimes they found themselves staring at Gordon, or unable to meet his gaze. Sometimes they had to hide from the NPCs to curl up in a corner like some feral cat. The pain was still bitter, harsh, a stake through their heart.

_hah, no-brain benrey, too many feelings, fucking loser. wanna go and kiss feetman? huh? that's pretty gay. pretty home of sexual._

_...i'm an idiot. i'm so stupid._

Because Benrey was already going against their research. Benrey was being too nice.

"There was this fucking security guard-"  
No more time to think.  
That was Gordon.  
And that was their cue.


	3. Chapter 3

The sight of the passport guard made Gordon's blood boil in a way he didn't know was possible. It didn't help that he'd woken up, hot as hell, in the HEV suit, somehow in the airlock, not remembering anything after the explosion except a slight pain in the back of his head and a lingering coldness on his forehead. That he'd found Bubby alive, only to be berated as 'the motherfucker that fucked up this whole experiment'. That he hadn't seen Dr Coomer, or Tommy, yet.

That the halls were full of bodies whose deaths could well have been Gordon's fault.

_That they'd been right about the resonance cascade._

He strode right up to the passport guard, and shoved them against the wall, pulling out a gun to press it against their head. God, maybe threatening the guy wasn't such a great idea, but Gordon's mind was whirling, and his anger was most definitely dominating the more logical side of his brain.  
"You knew!" he barked, expecting some sort of alarm to flare up in the passport guard's eyes. Some sort of sign that they were, y'know, alive? Aware? Afraid of death? But instead their eyes were half-lidded, uncaring, and their mouth curled into a lazy grin. Now that their faces were so close, Gordon noticed that their pupils were lizard-like slits, their skin had a greyish tinge, their teeth were inhumanly sharp, and- oh God, was that a fucking snake tongue?  
"oh hey feetman. shitman. fuckin...shitman."  
Gordon caught a glimpse of some deeper emotion in those weird, slitted eyes, which seemed to have dilated somewhat, and suddenly felt embarrassed at the closeness - he just let that turn to anger.  
"What are you?" But any further questioning would have to wait, as an easily recognisable cry came from the doorway.  
"Watch out!"  
In the brief second Gordon was distracted, the passport guard had somehow materialised a good few metres away, lounging against the wall, their focus directed towards Tommy, who stood, frightened, at the room's entrance.  
How could someone slip away so far, so fast…?  
Gordon huffed, and forced himself to let it go.  
"Tommy- Tommy!" He felt instinctively protective of the man, even though he was pretty sure Tommy was older than him; he had a vulnerable way about him, especially with his notable lack of weaponry and his soda addiction. Drinking soda for lunch...after everything that had happened, all the limp bodies he'd passed on his way here that easily could've been Tommy's, he felt guilty for calling him a freak. He'd be nicer from now on. Tommy was much more pleasant company than the fucking passport guard, anyway.  
"Watch out," Tommy called, voice trembling slightly. "There's creatures!"  
His fear was cause for alarm, and Gordon was alert for a potential threat. He spun on his heels to face the doorway, steadfastly ignoring the passport guard, gun gripped firmly, reassuringly, in his hand. Still...he didn't exactly understand what Tommy meant by 'creatures'. Sure, this passport guard was an anomaly; possibly not even human, if they were to be believed; but Tommy seemed to know them pretty well...

Then the headcrab dropped through the ceiling besides him.

Gordon Freeman _panicked_. He'd never admit it to a single living soul - hell, he'd struggle to admit it to himself, after the fact - but after everything he'd just been through, maybe he was due a little shock. He froze up, limbs stiffening, trying to force the hand holding the gun to lift it, point it, pull the trigger.  
"They're out!" Bubby cried, and Gordon could hear Tommy shuffling back, hiding in the doorframe, before his attention flickered back to the headcrab, and the gun.  
He was reacting, sure, but too slowly. The horrid thing was almost upon him- it was crawling closer- its spindly limbs clawed at his shoes-  
 _BANG_.  
It exploded in a cloud of green smoke, yellow pus oozing out of reddened flesh.  
Gordon turned to see who'd shot.  
 _The fucking passport guard._

...but where Gordon expected some sort of jab, some teasing, the passport guard said absolutely nothing, the heavy gun in their arms vanishing as if it was never there. They wouldn't meet his curious eyes, and there was only so long Gordon could stare without inciting someone's interest.  
"Well done!" Bubby praised, and the passport guard nodded, offering their hand to Gordon.  
"...heh. baby shitman can't fire a gun. baby shitman needs a babysitter," they mumbled, but it didn't seem condescending or smug, more like a hurried necessity.  
Gordon hesitated, not necessarily wanting to offer this mildly terrifying person a warm greeting. But it would be pretty rude to deny someone who'd saved his life. So he reached forward, shaking their clammy hand firmly.  
Cold hands...huh.  
"Gordon Freeman. But you seem to know that already," he said.  
"bbbbbbbb...Benrey."  
"That's your name?" he replied, a little incredulously, letting his hand drop back to his side. The passport guard - 'Benrey' - watched it fall for a moment before their eyes snapped back up to Gordon's face.  
"wh- huh?"  
Gordon groaned. "Never fucking mind. Alright, 'Benrey'...thanks for the save."

* * *

_'Autosaving...please wait…'_

_The chair creaks as I lean back a little, wheels threatening to send me spinning to the back of the room, before I hook my knees under the desk and drag myself forwards. I crane my head up; the digital display of the clock on the shelf above me reads 7:32pm. Jeez, the start sucks me in every time, it feels like it's only been a few minutes…_   
_I turn my attention back to the screen. Something about this is worrying me. Sure, they change every time, but they're acting pretty oddly. Odder than I've ever seen. Do they feel…?_

_Fuck, it hurts. I'm such a loser. How do you get so attached to a bundle of code?_

_I hit the escape key - pause - so I can ponder where I want to go with this. That cutscene earlier? After the resonance cascade? Absolutely fucking golden, more of that please. It's a damn shame Gordon apparently doesn't remember. Then again it's tragedy after tragedy where Benrey is concerned, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Poor dude…_

_I haven't met Dr Coomer yet except for that one brief tutorial cutscene conversation at the lockers, which obviously I speedran - I'm hardly gonna watch it every single time. It makes me feel kinda guilty, skipping past his tutorial NPC speech patterns, but, well, he's basically the one who convinced me to do this. It'll turn out fine in the end. Has to._

_I pull up the spreadsheet, scrolling across to a column reading "run 37". My eyes flicker over the number briefly - god, I'm addicted - before I get to typing out my new discoveries. My fingers fly over the keys: typing out "Benrey saves Gordon cutscene"; hitting ctrl-F to search for 'feetman' (and giggling slightly at the results); using the first run's notes as a base; cross-referencing the usual behaviour until the resonance cascade. Feeling slight guilt as I notice two of the columns abruptly end at that point. Well...I wasn't as good back then. I wouldn't be so dumb now._

_I let my gaze wander to the column titled "run 36". It's almost like tradition now, to re-read the notes from my best run every time I edit the spreadsheet, and run 36 was my best run for sure._

_But not as good as it could've been._

_I'll get the true ending this time._

_I promise._


	4. Chapter 4

Gordon sprinted up the stairs, feet flying upwards, knees high, gun still gripped in the hand swaying at his side, reaching the empty doorway of the little observation room. It seemed undamaged for the most part, but was sprinkled with dusty debris, scattered into the corners. A couple of larger pieces of wall had crumbled near the back of the room, where an open space beyond the back entrance beckoned. The only way forwards, Gordon realised.  
But that wasn't actually why he'd come up here.  
He was glad to see Dr Coomer completely unharmed - he realised that might not last much longer, though, at the rate the man was slamming his wrinkled hands all over the buttons on that console. Relief quickly switched to blatant alarm. Did he even know what he was fucking doing??  
"Alright, the terminal's fixed, now if I just press- ARGh!"  
A laser flickered into the room through the observational window, inches from Dr Coomer's face, striking the back wall. It left burn marks.

Out of instinct, Gordon leapt forwards, grabbing Dr Coomer's arm to drag him back from the console. The man, however, didn't budge, and Gordon found himself being shaken off with relative ease. He didn't let go until Coomer turned and fixed him with mildly intimidating eye contact.  
"Hello, Gordon!"  
"I don't think you should be fucking with anything here," Gordon sighed, voice tainted with utter disbelief.  
"I've got my passport!"  
It was all Gordon could do to not collapse right there under the increasing gravity of the situation.

"Let's goooo," Bubby called impatiently from the doorway on the other side of the room, which he'd somehow effortlessly traversed. Gordon just groaned, swallowed his frustration, and strode with a false show of confidence across the room, flinching slightly as a laser fizzled in the air just a short distance away. It smelt acrid, with an aura of heat, not surprising considering the slashes burnt into the back wall.  
 _God, not even the HEV suit'll protect me from that!_  
He turned briefly when he reached the other side, and noticed the passport guard - _Benrey, it's the least I can do to remember their name_ \- had thrown their arm in front of Tommy to stop him, who blinked, a tad confused, at them. It would've been a slightly amusing sight, because Tommy was so much taller, if not for the tension crackling in Benrey's muscles. Their lizard-like pupils were fixed on the lasers, and turned to slits every time one crackled into the room. They didn't even seem to notice Gordon was watching, as they, with the utmost care, grabbed Tommy's arm and guided him through the line of fire. The bits of rubble in their path vanished without explanation.  
"shitman got a staring problem?" Benrey said flatly, releasing their death-grip on Tommy's arm, and Gordon blinked. Was it his imagination, or were their cheeks reddening slightly? Shit, they were embarrassed about being _nice_? This dude was fucked up.  
"Thank you, Benrey!" Tommy said brightly, patting them a couple of times on the helmet with some hollow _clunk_ s before trotting past Gordon, who was left to stare at Benrey, unable to provide an answer.  
"c'mon, shitman," they grumbled, and stalked after their friend, giving Gordon no choice but to follow.

* * *

"Have any of you ever gone to the surface without the tram?"  
Benrey watched from around the corner, rolling their eyes. This cutscene was where Gordon asserted himself as leader, protagonist, the centre of it all; and the foundations for the end-goal of the run - escaping Black Mesa - were laid down. Benrey had heard the speech an uncountable number of times, so they let their eyes glaze, the words becoming a comfortable humming at the back of their mind.

Gordon's ponytail had been coming loose since the resonance cascade, and Benrey found themself a little more invested in the 'conversation', watching Gordon slowly take off his glasses as he spoke. He snapped them shut, then stuck the end of one arm in his mouth as someone - maybe Bubby? - replied to whatever question he asked, strands of hair swinging across his freckled face. Then, in one swift movement, he let the ponytail loose, his waves of brown hair cascading over his shoulders, lifting a hand to casually brush it out of his eyes. And almost as quickly as he'd let it down, he'd pulled his hair back into the hairband, tugging it tight as usual, slipping his glasses back onto his face to shoot a response to the other scientists.

Benrey remembered running their hands through that silky hair and pulling it into a clumsy ponytail, laughing as Gordon's slightly shy smile made his eyes sparkle.  
 _"Benrey, you're doing it wrong."_  
 _"yeah...looks a bit shit, huh."_  
The memory burnt like a brand behind their eyes...it felt like a million years ago.

How many new Gordons had they met since then?

The sounds of heavy footfalls on metal flooring snapped Benrey out of it, and they wanted to slap themselves. That, or sulk, but they didn't have much time to waste right now. The sulking could come later.  
 _Stop it, stop it! Pining over...fuckin feetman...cringe._  
Apparently, though, they hadn't been noticed, because the Science Team were already headed to the next room. They relaxed for a moment, then jolted upright. Shit, they were supposed to be in the next room!  
"Ugh. Hate him," Benrey muttered under their breath, mauve Sweet Voice bubbles slipping out of their mouth before they clamped it shut.  
It couldn't be further from the truth. And Benrey was starting to think that this run, this run in particular, they wouldn't be able to handle it.

They popped up on a box in the laser room, as expected, all according to plan. Got shot in the head. Didn't get injured. Vomited purplish Sweet Voice, which Tommy peppily translated.  
"Purple like the evening- of a spring evening- that means they're okay!"  
Benrey was too exhausted (emotionally, of course) to protest or fight the nonsense script, and even Gordon's brief touch on their shoulder, his concerned voice asking if they were alright, passed by them in a blur. He did this every time, it was just how this scene went, it was nothing special.

This feeling was frightening. Like standing on a cliff edge, half of their boot poking off, watching pebbles skittering down the sheer rocky slope, drowning in vertigo.

Or maybe they'd already fallen, and there was no going back.

Benrey smacked the back of their helmet, trying to chase away the heavy misery that had settled so suddenly on their shoulders. There was always this moment near the start of a run; the full choking realisation of the reset would constrict their throat. To be honest, they were surprised they'd lasted this long.  
They could feel all the classic signs of a rising panic. Their hands quaked, their shoulders trembled, they shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. They scrabbled with difficulty at their helmet, trying to pull it further down their face. Crackling dryness was rising in their throat.  
But they were hanging at the back of the little group. They could hide it. They were doing better than usual...or at least, better than the first few runs.

The first few runs, these feelings had sent them to the ground in a crying, hiccuping mess.

_"bro. bro...gordon. you don't- don't remember me?"_   
_"...we've never met before today."_

They stopped. Took a deep breath. Fixed an emotionless, almost bored expression onto their face, letting their hands fall limply to their sides.

They were stronger now.

Right?


End file.
